Out of the Shadows
by Welsh mama
Summary: Spring 1924: Madeleine Allsopp visits Downton Abbey. A growing friendship with Tom and her instinctive affinity with his daughter give cause for optimism. Written before S5 aired.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Inspired by the encouraging feedback I received after 'A Mother's Love', I have written this one-shot in the same universe, set a few months later in spring 1924. Recently I re-watched the 2013 Christmas special and was once again struck by what a great addition Madeleine Allsopp was to the cast. Consequently my mind began to explore the potential of her returning and how this could link in with Tom's evolving grief. Since then I have seen some speculation on Tumblr that Madeleine might be brought back as a potential love interest for him. However, I haven't seen any confirmation that the actress has been taken on for S5 so this storyline will probably be blown apart by the first episode. It's a 'what if?' rather than a concrete pairing. I have no objection to Tom finding love again, provided that it's not with Sarah Bunting! (I forward winded through her scenes in the Christmas special!)_

_NB: Barwick Estate and Lord Tyrell are my own invention. I read that Downton was filming at Alnwick Castle and altered the name to suit my own purposes._

* * *

No sooner had he taken two steps into the hallway, Rose appeared from an adjacent doorway, hands clasped before her, her face awash with delight. _What mischief is she up to now? _Tom wondered as he passed his hat to Jimmy.

"Uncle Robert has agreed to a visitor on Friday!" she declared and lifted the clasped hands to her mouth, as if to try and restrict further over-exuberance from escaping.

Tom nodded at Jimmy and raised a half-hearted smile. It was still difficult to pitch the correct tone with those below stairs with whom he had once eaten beside. Jimmy was one of the easier members of staff to deal with; he was openly curious rather than resentful.

"And who will be gracing us with their presence?" Tom asked and found himself instinctively breaking into a smile. Rose's enthusiasm could be infectious. It was impossible not to feel some zeal towards her plans.

Rose clapped her hands together like an over-eager child. "Madeleine Allsopp!" she declared. "I'm _so_ excited to see her again!"

The name was familiar to him, but he couldn't place it. Some bright young thing from Rose's set he presumed, there were so many of them. In his mind they were mostly interchangeable; outwardly attractive, all bubbly and effervescent, but swiftly forgotten, like second rate champagne. He had learned to recognise the difference.

Rose took another step towards him. "Oh you _must_ remember Tom. I came out with her last summer, she was at my ball."

"There were a lot of young women at your ball, Rose. I can't remember all…"

"That's because you only danced with Aunt Violet, Edith and Mary." Rose wagged her finger with an air of admonishment. "If you had danced with my friends, you would remember them."

"Well I don't really care for…" he began. But Rose held little store by what had already taken place. Her interest was in the future.

"Madeleine is daughter of Lord Aysgarth…" Tom felt his curiosity begin to wane and feeling the first stirrings of hunger, turned his thoughts towards dinner. A day previously Mr Drewe had slaughtered a pig for the house and Tom hoped that it might make its way to the table tonight.

"He made a play for Cousin Martha, don't you remember Tom? And he pushed poor Madeleine towards Uncle Harold. Well, not that he's my uncle, but you know who I mean…"

Tom blinked and forced himself to listen. He _did_ remember her now, although he thought it unlikely that he could pick her out from a crowd.

"But then they became firm friends and now Madeleine has become _quite_ the rebel! She refuses to join in with her father's schemes to find her a rich husband and is determined to be independent."

"So she's left his house?" Tom asked, his curiosity raised by the idea of such a brave and unorthodox move within Rose's circle.

"Oh no, nothing like that…" Rose waved a hand around in front of her face to dismiss the notion. "…but she simply _won't _be used in that way anymore. She's made it very clear to him."

Tom shook his head and sighed. "So she's _defiant_ rather than independent, you mean?"

He quickly flashed a grin to make it clear that he bore no ill-will towards their visitor, nor Rose's over-embellishment of the facts. In his opinion, she provided a welcome burst of joy in a house which had known too much tragedy in recent years. While respectful of her relatives' grief, Rose was not burdened by it. She had only met Matthew during his visit to Duneagle shortly before his untimely death and her memories of Sybil were hindered by infrequent gatherings and an age difference of more than six years. Rose could be silly at times, not to mention impulsive. Her poor judgement had been called into account on more than one instance, but there were occasions in which Tom felt envious of her youthful naiveté and unwavering optimism. Her brightness of spirit met his dark clouds of grief head on and in doing so provided a vision of clarity and colour which served to remind him that there were still things worth living for and contentment to be had.

"Well I look forward to meeting Lady Madeleine again" he said before making his way towards the stairs.

Now it was Rose's turn to offer a mischievous grin. "She's the _Honourable_ Madeleine actually, not a Lady. Not that _you_ care for such things, of course!"

"Indeed" He had long held a suspicion that Rose found his indifference to titles rather refreshing.

"I've persuaded Uncle Robert to let us play music after dinner one evening so we can have some dancing. You _must_ dance with us this time, Tom. We're so short of men in this house, you simply _have_ to join in!"

He felt aware of a gnawing sense of discomfort. "Can't you invite some men along for the evening? I'm certain they'll provide you with more entertainment than me."

"I'm sure Mary will invite whichever of her suitors is in favour this month, but we still need you to make up the numbers. Uncle Robert has said it _absolutely_ must not turn into a big party and I don't want to make him cross by asking for anything more."

As if realising that her explanation was unflattering to its recipient, Rose came to a halt and altered her tactics with a heady smile. "You know, you really are _far_ more interesting than you think, Tom."

"I'm quite aware that I have provided drawing rooms with plenty to talk about over the last few years" he said stiffly and nodded in an effort to draw the conversation to a close. But Rose was not one to be so easily deterred and moved to block his path to the staircase.

"Not because of what you've done, silly. Because of what you say! Really Tom, you're always saying that times are changing. Well people my age _are_ interested in what's happening in the world. We're not our parents, there's more to us than the grouse season and goings on at court." She tipped her head to one side and with it came a sly smirk of one who knew how to instigate a reaction. "Besides, you dance very well and all young women enjoy a partner under the age of fifty who can avoid treading on their toes."

Once again, Tom felt a growing sense of unease and scratched awkwardly at the side of his neck.

"As I said before, I don't really care for dancing much if I'm honest, Rose."

"Well that's because your recent experience is with those who are either elderly or in mourning. It must be enough to bring anybody down. I'm sure you'll find dancing with Madeleine far more enjoyable."

"I'll dance with _you_" he offered, wanting to feel on safer ground. The idea of dancing with a young woman to whom we was not in some way related, felt oddly threatening and disloyal. Even the mention of it conjured up an image of Sybil, her skin warm and soft against his, synchronised steps matching a tune of their making. Sadness seeped through him, as so often happened without warning, and his shoulders sagged.

Whether or not Rose understood his state of mind, he wasn't certain, but she appeared to finally appreciate that he couldn't be persuaded by a simple joke or implication.

"I'll hold you to it" she said gently and took a step back, turning away from him on her heel to signify that the conversation was coming to an end.

Tom nodded. "I'll see you at dinner" he said but as he climbed the stairs, he could hear her singing to herself while she crossed the hallway. It wasn't any tune he knew – perhaps she was simply making it up for her own amusement, she had a decent enough voice.

"_It's time to dance again!"_

ooOoo

He was placed beside Madeleine at dinner. Isobel sat to his left, which was always a comfort. She could be relied on to provide more stimulating conversation than the latest fashions or idle gossip. He had managed to eschew afternoon tea after their visitor's arrival and his only exchange with Madeleine had been a friendly handshake once the formal welcome came to a close. He enjoyed tea and cake as much as anybody, but the event's usual duration was both restrictive and tedious. As the only salaried member of the family, he was able to excuse himself for a return to work without causing offence.

Everybody enjoyed the diversion of a new visitor and at the beginning of an evening at least, Tom was no exception. Fresh experiences and interests were always welcome, regardless of age or standing. There were times when Tom's curiosity had been known to wane before the end of the first course – the indignant musings of members of the nobility still entrenched in the past, held little appeal. He had heard it all many times before, but had learned to perfect an expression which, to an independent observer, appeared courteous and respectful throughout. Inwardly, however his mind often wandered to more palatable subjects – his daughter, tasks which needed his attention the following day, snippets of news he could include in his next letter home to his mother.

But Madeleine Allsopp provided welcome relief from sentimental recollections of yesteryear. She was bright, engaging and mixed polite questions amongst lively reports of London. The conversation drew contributions from all parties at the table, which included the Dowager Countess and Charles Blake, who Mary continued to hold at a distance, but from time to time teased with an invitation and a tantalising hint of promise. Tom's opinion wavered between comparing the man's situation with his own long and patient courtship with Sybil and wondering how any man could bear to be toyed with in such a manner. He was still contemplating the issue when Madeleine turned to her left and presented him with a dazzling smile.

"I must apologise, I've hardly spoken to you, Mr Branson. I'm a poor dinner companion this evening."

"Not at all" he swiftly replied. "A visitor is always in high demand in this house. I hope you're enjoying your first visit to Downton so far?"

"Oh yes, everyone has been so very welcoming. And it's such a beautiful house, I'm looking forward to exploring the grounds further tomorrow." Her eyes offered such expression of delight that he had no doubt of her sincerity. Her enthusiasm went beyond the polite platitudes usually expressed. Before he could reply, she pressed on further.

"I understand that you're probably the best person to talk to about the Estate, you also work as the Manager here, don't you?"

"I do, yes."

Her smile was unwavering. "It must be _wonderful _to have a sense of purpose each morning."

Tom instinctively narrowed his eyes; he had previously heard the same phrase laden with condescension. Yet he didn't have the sense that Madeleine was mocking his unconventional relationship with the family in any way. He trusted his instinct and nodded.

"It is, yes. I've had a taste of sitting around with nothing to do in this house and it didn't bode well with me."

"Was that…" Madeleine hesitated and he recognised the usual apprehension at speaking to the bereaved. "…when you first came back here with Lady Sybil?"

He nodded and held her gaze to make it clear that he had no aversion to speaking about her. So often the subject of his late wife was avoided, or her name omitted from conversations in which she should have played a part. His grief was on-going but hearing her name brought a degree of comfort nowadays.

Having presumed that Madeleine's knowledge of Sybil was based solely on hearsay and aristocratic gossip, Tom was then taken by surprise.

"I was so terribly upset by her death. She was such a lovely person."

"You knew her?" he asked with unconcealed eagerness. "I didn't realise there was any family connection before you became friendly with Rose."

Madeleine shook her head and closed her eyes as if in self-admonishment. "Not really, no. I mean, I'm sure she wouldn't have remembered me, but I did meet her once when I was a child."

She paused and Tom waited only a second. "Tell me" he urged and felt a swell of longing for a tale he had never heard.

"Well she came out with my cousin, Eleanor Townsend. I don't know if you know her?"

"I know the name" Tom replied, recalling it as one of many who wrote with their earnest condolences shortly after Sybil had left him.

"I think it must have been 1914…"

"…it was" he interjected and nodded his head eagerly.

"And my parents were invited to Eleanor's ball. It was the year before my mother died and she was already a little weak, but I remember her being adamant that she wanted to go." Madeleine's gaze dropped to her lap. "I suppose she must have realised even then that she might not live to see my own ball."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Tom spoke gently, understanding the rhythm of bereavement; an acknowledgement of the loss, a moment to recollect one's thoughts, the importance of including a loved one in the story.

Within seconds, Madeleine had gathered up her emotions and was ready to continue. "We were staying at the house and I was allowed as a very special treat to sit on the top landing at Eleanor's house and watch all the guests arrive. I was ten or eleven years old, I think and wanted to see all of the pretty dresses. But then I sneaked out again later, when I was supposed to be in bed and while I was watching, Lady Sybil came up the first flight of steps and saw me looking down at her from the floor above."

"Yes" Tom encouraged. He felt like a parched man desperate to ingest further nourishment.

"I remember thinking that I was going to get into terrible trouble but she smiled up at me and said 'hello' so brightly that I knew that I didn't need to be afraid. She asked me my name and then I was so mesmerised that I simply said '_I love your dress'_ and she laughed and twirled around to show me some more. And then she whispered _'shall I come up so you can see it more closely?'_ and before I knew how I should respond, she had climbed the second staircase and was in front of me."

"Did she now?" Tom breathed and closed his eyes, trying to visualise the two of them – Sybil resplendent in white silk and lace, a child-like Madeleine watching in awe. He had never had the opportunity to see Sybil's dress in person, but Cora had shown him a photograph taken before their visit to the Palace and with that in mind, he could play out the scene in his head.

"I'm sorry" Madeleine said gently and he swiftly opened his eyes to see her look of concern. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"You didn't upset me, I promise" he said in earnest. "I'm always very happy to hear a new story about Sybil. You see, I won't have any new memories of her now, so one which comes from somebody else feels a little like striking gold."

"Yes" Madeleine said quietly and her face was etched with empathy. "I can understand that. I sometimes think that about my mother too" They sat motionless for a short time, before Tom felt unable to resist a hopeful petition to further quench his thirst.

"And did she stay with you for long?" he asked.

"No, only a minute or two. She told me her name and what they were having to eat downstairs and then she asked what I'd had for tea and when I told her that I'd had bread and jam before bedtime, she laughed and said that it sounded much tastier than all the fancy foods on display and that she was quite jealous. And then she said that her family would be missing her shortly so she had to go, but that I should work hard with my lessons so I would be both beautiful and clever when it was my turn to come out." Madeleine raised her hands in the air. "And then she was gone. But I never forgot her name although it was several years before I heard it again."

"Was that when she died?" he asked and was initially taken aback by Madeleine's expression of unease.

"Oh…" he said slowly as realisation washed over him. "You heard that she had run off to marry the chauffeur, did you?"

Madeleine lifted her chin with defiance. "Yes" she said. "And I thought it was the most romantic thing I'd ever heard!"

The admission brought out an instinctive smile from Tom, who thought back to that heady summer before the advent of war maimed a generation in a myriad of ways, when he first became aware that his feelings towards Sybil stretched further than a detached admiration of her spirit. Denied the opportunity to drive the family to London, he had remained at Downton and wrestled with his emotions; reliving the occasion when, in a moment of exhilaration at Gwen's success, he had found Sybil's hand entwined in his. In the months which followed, he had balanced pragmatism with hope, confident that his growing affection was reciprocated but understanding the improbability of any concrete declaration.

Before working at Downton Abbey, he had little understanding of the practicalities of a first season for a member of the aristocracy. Even if Sybil had not provided him with many of the details herself, the general air of excitement generated by his colleagues below stairs would have been sufficient to force upon him its significance. Throughout the long month in which she had been away, Tom had agonised over the likelihood of, at best a suitor, or at worst an engagement. His jealousy had eaten away at him to such an extent that when she first returned, he had avoided any eye contact for the first two days, for fear that he would betray his strength of feeling. Had he known that she would leave such a lasting impression not only in the ballroom, but on a young female observer, his anxiety may have eased at least in part.

"I have always admired her bravery in following her heart, Mr Branson" Madeleine continued in a softer tone. "The world may be a different place since the war, but it still takes great courage within our circle to truly break free."

When Sybil had first agreed to marry him, Tom's elation had been tempered in part by relief; that his patience had not been in vain. After that they had been swept away by the practicalities of their new life: declaring their engagement, the departure to Ireland tangled up within the aftermath of Spanish flu, finding a home and employment in Dublin, their marriage, pregnancy, the unexpected return to Downton, Sybil's tragic death. It was only subsequently that Tom had fully come to appreciate the extent of his wife's bravery; with its potential fall-out not only for her, but also for her family. Her conviction and trust in their relationship had overcome resistance from friends and foes; those who believed they sought the best for her and others who saw her as an enemy within their midst.

"I truly believe that we are witnessing only the beginning of change" he said slowly, taking care to temper the emotion which threatened to destabilise their conversation. "Opportunities will rise both for women and the common man. The time is fast approaching in which women will not be beholden to their fathers, nor indeed their husbands. They will have independence beyond the vote."

"Freedom" Madeleine whispered and Tom witnessed her clasp her hands together under the table as if in prayer.

"As free as any man, yes. Although freedom often brings its own set of rules. We're all bound to convention in some way."

"But for the time being, I remain beholden to my father. How I _long_ to turn twenty-one!"

With a chuckle borne out of amusement at the conversation's turn, he remembered his own similar sentiment at the same age. His youthful longing for liberation had given scant consideration towards the additional responsibilities which unavoidably come with age. "It'll come soon enough and then you'll want it all to slow down a little, believe me."

"I'm sure you're right, but for the time being I'm looking forward to being allowed to make some decisions for myself, Mr Branson.

"Tom, please." He was keen to dispense with the formality and grateful for the opportunity.

She gave another smile of such genuine delight that he couldn't help but reciprocate.

"Oh good, then please call me Madeleine and I shall consider us friends."

Tom felt surprisingly pleased by the suggestion. It had been some time since he had found a guest so refreshingly unpretentious and honest.

He tipped his head towards her. "Madeleine, I believe we already are."

ooOoo

With one hand on his pocket watch and his mind already firmly fixed upon his daughter, Tom didn't anticipate anybody appearing from around the corner into the corridor and visibly started when Madeleine came to a halt before him.

"I'm sorry" they said simultaneously while friendly smiles mirrored one another in greeting.

"I was just on my way to the nursery" he explained.

"Is there anything wrong?" Madeleine looked visibly alarmed.

"No, not at all. I like to try and spend a bit of time with Sybbie when I first get in. Before the formality of Nanny bringing her and George downstairs to see everyone."

Her smile of approval was evident. "How lovely for you both!" she declared. "My mother would do that whenever she could, it was the highlight of my day."

"But not your father?" Tom asked the question before he considered that it could give the impression of being a slight against Lord Aysgarth.

"No. He's more of a stickler for protocol. He didn't feel at home in the nursery."

Tom smiled. "Well I've never been one to worry about protocol. Besides, I want to spend as much time with my daughter as time allows."

"May I come with you?"

For the first time, Tom witnessed her unease. The request had been impulsive and now she was wondering if she had overstepped the mark. Nothing could have been further from the truth.

"I'd be delighted. And so would Sybbie."

At nearly four years of age, Sybbie Branson was in possession of a wilful nature and an often grievous sense of injustice, particularly against her younger cousin against whom she frequently competed for a relative's or Nanny's attention.

"George took my spoon!" she declared on first sight of her father.

"And I gave you another one" came Nanny's gentle reminder.

She decided to change tactics. "And _then_ he spilt milk on the table."

"He's only two" Tom reminded as he scooped her up into his arms. "You're nearly four now, you have to be the big girl and show him how to behave." Before Sybbie could think of further causes of complaint, he blew a raspberry on to her cheek, a move guaranteed to elicit giggles and squeals of pleasure.

Once she was back on the ground, she turned to face the newcomer to the nursery. "You brought the pretty lady, Da"

Tom glanced to the side to ensure that Madeleine was not embarrassed and watching her smile, gave a grin of his own. "I did indeed. She wanted to come up and see you and George. Is that alright, pickle?" Domestic nicknames are rarely unique and more often than not are established without any conscious decision. It rhymed nicely with tickle and made Sybbie smile almost without fail. Each provided sufficient grounds for it to endure.

He took a look around him to see which toys were in favour that afternoon. Before he could initiate a game which might include them all, Madeleine had taken matters into her own hands, walking across to the small bookcase against the far wall.

"What a lovely lot of books you have here, Sybbie" she said cheerfully and bent towards the top shelf, her arms crossed behind her back. "Do you have a favourite?"

His daughter needed no further prompt and scampered across to join her, pulling out her dog-eared but well-loved copy of _Old Mother West Wind_ and handing it over with an expectant flourish.

"May I read some of it to you?" Madeleine asked. Sybbie began to pull her towards an adjacent armchair before the sentence concluded. Like her parents and grandmother before her, she already possessed a love of books and any opportunity to read was eagerly grasped.

Tom sat on the nearby bed and watched Madeleine read the first story with innate ability – the words carefully spoken, the rise and fall of her pitch carefully matching the story's gentle course. It was clear that Sybbie was enraptured by the tale, despite having heard it many times before. Her eyes scoured the pencil drawings on the pages while Madeleine spoke, the corners of her mouth twitching with delight as her imagination ran wild alongside woodland creatures and their adventures. To begin with she sat carefully beside her storyteller, elbows tucked neatly in as Nanny had taught her, only the turn of her head betraying an instinctive enthusiasm. But it wasn't long before she began to lean gently into Madeleine and one hand soon made its way onto her lap.

Throughout the recital, George stood cautiously by the bookcase, two fingers pressed into his mouth, motionless and silent. Tom tried to catch his attention and considered crossing the room to lift him onto the bed, but could see how mesmerised his daughter was and felt unwilling to break the spell. Once Madeleine came to a close, she turned her head towards George before Tom could rise to his feet.

"Do _you_ have a favourite book that I could read, George?" she asked and he needed no further encouragement, reaching out and pulling at the first one within his grasp.

Sybbie's features switched to a frown. She had enjoyed being the focus of their guest's attention and was unwilling to share.

"But I want to read another of mine!" she declared. Tom anticipated the familiar pout before it even appeared and braced himself for the possibility of a tantrum. Madeleine seemed unruffled by the potential conflict. She raised a hand in the air and turned towards Sybbie with an expression to imply that she was going to let her into a coveted secret.

"Let's take it in turns, shall we? It will make it more fun." Then before Sybbie could protest any further, she swept George onto her lap and began to read the first page of his chosen book. Sybbie opened her mouth, but any further protest was eliminated by the story's delivery and she remained quiet, her lips forming a perfect O as she listened and any further thoughts of injustice quietly slipped away.

Tom heard a rustle of skirts to his right and met Nanny's startled expression head on. Her eyebrows had arched so acutely that for a moment he wondered if their ends might meet. His lips twitched with amusement. Nanny was not accustomed to competition in her ability to soothe Sybbie's sometimes volatile disposition.

It took some time for the two children's enthusiastic demands to be satisfied, but after three stories each, Nanny stepped in citing time for a snack. Tom suspected that she was unnerved by their visitor's aptitude and was keen to reassert her governance.

"You're a natural with young children" he told Madeleine while she tidied the books away on the shelf. "You've a real gift with them."

She tucked an imaginary strand of hair behind her ears and a hint of pink spread across her cheeks. "Thank you. I sometimes tell Papa that if all the money runs out, I could happily work as a governess. I'm certain that I would enjoy it."

"Or a school teacher." Tom suggested. "A good teacher is always in demand, from whatever background."

She looked suddenly wistful. "He would never allow it, I'm sure. But in truth, I would love to be a teacher, Tom."

"I thought that once you were twenty-one, you were no longer beholden to your father?" He said it mischievously, but by doing so, unveiled the truth.

Madeleine lifted her hands as if in petition. "I have no idea how one would even train to be a teacher. Or even if they would accept somebody like me, someone who hasn't been to school herself."

"I could find out for you if you like?" he suggested gently. "I know the teacher at the village school here. I'm sure she could tell me how best to go about it." He hesitated, uncertain whether he was pressing a point which may only have been raised in jest.

"Would you really?" she replied and placed a hand against her heart.

"Of course. I'd be delighted to help you if I can."

"You probably think I'm being terribly naïve…."

Tom cut in firmly. "Not at all. You said yourself that you envy a sense of purpose each day. What could be more fitting than helping to educate the next generation?"

She glanced bashfully down at the floor. "I truly don't need the kind of lifestyle my father yearns to keep, no matter how pleasurable it might be at times. A life of pure leisure seems often to breed indifference to progress, don't you think? I would prefer to live far more modestly if it gave me the opportunity to be useful in some way."

He found himself smiling. Her sentiment was refreshing, regardless of its ingenuous origins.

"I suspect that your definition of modest may differ a little from mine, but I'm pleased to hear you say it regardless. You know, your father's not alone in fearing the loss of financial security." He took a pause and waited for a sign that she wanted to him to proceed. It wouldn't be the first time that he'd irked a guest with his progressive views after they had conceded to polite interest. Madeleine nodded her head, encouraging him to elaborate.

Tom cleared his throat. "Lives are altering, whether we like it or not, and soon people will need to face the prospect of having to take employment for the first time. If you can do it willingly and without resentment, then you'll be leading the way for women of your generation. It would be a courageous and worthy move."

He was rewarded by a shy smile and a most fitting accolade.

"I will think about your wife's courage in training to be a nurse, Tom. Perhaps she can inspire me once again."

ooOoo

At the final evening's dinner, discussion centred on the family's summer visit to Barwick, the ancestral seat of Robert's school friend Lord Tyrell, who through a combination of shrewd financial investment and an opportune second marriage, had managed to secure the long-term future of his Estate. His youngest daughter, Margaret had come out in society alongside Rose and Madeleine the previous year and the three had since corresponded frequently.

"Why don't you come with us, Madeleine?" Rose asked with a gleeful expression, knowing full well that a public suggestion would be difficult to then withdraw. Cora gave her most benevolent smile and Robert embraced the idea as enthusiastically as if it had been his own.

"What a splendid idea! Why don't you write to ask your father, Madeleine? You will be made most welcome, I'm sure."

Madeleine's delight was evident while Rose beamed triumphantly across the table. "It'll be such fun!" she declared.

"Will you all be coming?" Madeleine's eyes circled the table and came finally to rest on Tom.

Edith emitted an audible sigh. "Oh there's no point in asking _him_. Tom _never _comes anywhere with us if he can help it! He's always far too busy."

"Work, work…" Mary said and threw a sardonic smile his way. "All work and no play. You know what that makes you, don't you?"

Tom's change of heart took him by surprise as much as anyone else. "Actually, perhaps I will come along this time" he said and spotted the array of raised eyebrows. He felt a wave of satisfaction at wrong-footing them all. "I could do with a break and Sybbie would enjoy a trip. If that suits everyone, of course?"

"I'd say!" said Rose loudly while Tom caught sight of Madeleine's smile of pleasure and matched it with one of his own.

"But who will look after Isis?" Robert interjected sternly, before being swiftly admonished by his wife.

"Robert! Tom is _not_ your dog keeper! We have plenty of people working here who are perfectly capable of looking after her."

Edith leant towards Tom and her demeanour seemed lighter than of late. "I'm glad" she said. "We'll find plenty to do. You don't need to ride or hunt or fish. Don't let Mary bully you into anything."

Her sister responded with a sweet smile, laced with veiled antagonism. "You may do whatever you wish, Tom."

"Except talk politics at the dinner table" interrupted the Dowager Countess. "Please spare us from that."

"Oh what a pity" Madeleine said quietly, taking a mouthful from her plate and avoiding anybody's gaze. Tom heard a muffled guffaw from Isobel's direction and felt the corners of his mouth twitch.

"Anyway, I can hunt and fish" he said.

Mary's eyebrows gave their customary arch of incredulity. "Since _when_?" she asked.

"I did _have_ a life before I came to Downton, Mary!" Tom's eyes were drawn towards Madeleine who was watching him intently. He smiled.

"I used to hunt and fish from time to time with my father and brother when we were in Galway. It may not have been what you're used to, but I can handle a gun and a rod."

"Splendid" said Robert, who appeared to be coming around to the idea of Tom's participation.

"But we always ate what we took. It was never just sport."

Robert's expression switched instantly to a frown. "We've always passed everything to Mrs Patmore, Tom. You know that. Nothing goes to waste if we can help it at Downton."

"Is it the same at Barwick?"

"I'm sure it is. I'll find out." Robert nodded before his mother added to the conversation.

"And the condition of the servants' quarters or the wellbeing of the horses? Perhaps you could enquire about the division of labour amongst the gardeners, Robert? No doubt Tom has some suggestions for improvement in all areas."

"Mama…" Robert gave a gentle hint of warning and Mary effortlessly diverted to a less contentious topic.

"Well Tom, there appears to be no end to your list of talents! What else have you kept hidden from us? Can we expect to see you on horseback too?"

He thought back to childhood summers in the countryside and felt a sudden surge of pleasure at the memory. "If you ever need someone to ride a cart horse bareback across a muddy field, then I'm the right man" he replied with a grin.

The dancing proved less disturbing than he had anticipated. Within their small party, there was little opportunity for diversion and the mood was light-hearted. The three men – Tom, Robert and Charles Blake, who had stayed at the house throughout Madeleine's visit – rotated between the younger women. Cora took one turn with each, but neither Isobel nor the Dowager could be persuaded from their preferred role as spectators. By the time Tom took to the floor with Madeleine, he felt sufficiently relaxed through a combination of wine and good humour, that holding her no longer felt like the betrayal he had feared. They had got to know one another now and his earlier caution now felt superfluous. It wasn't comparable to having Mary, Edith or Rose in his arms; there was a feeling of security in being physically close to a family member which was absent with anybody else. But he felt none of the awkwardness he habitually experienced when obliged to dance with other family guests, even after he accidently clipped her ankle with his heel. He apologised, she laughed, he jested and pretended to do it again. They were sufficiently relaxed with one another not to worry about formality. He was glad.

The following morning he stood in line with the others as Madeleine prepared to leave and felt curiously light-headed. Rose fussed and fluttered around her friend, enthusing about their summer visit to Barwick and requesting one favour or another during her time in London. Tom wondered if he had drunk too much wine the previous evening, or whether he was coming down with a cold. A glance to his right met the scrutiny of the Dowager who wore a smile to imply that she held a secret from which he was excluded. He frowned which seemed to only add to her amusement.

Standing before him, Madeleine held out her hand and he took it.

"It was a pleasure to have you here at Downton" he said and meant it sincerely.

"Thank you so much for your friendship these past few days. If you ever have an opportunity to speak to your friend, the school teacher…"

"I'll seek her out tomorrow" he said and silently cursed his unsteady feet while she beamed at him in gratitude. He might have to lie down for a short while later if he was feeling no better after luncheon.

"You could write to me if you have any time.." Madeleine shook her head with vigour so that her curls bobbed around the frame of her face. "I mean, of course it can wait until we meet at Barwick, there's really no hurry."

"I'll write this week" he replied. "It's no bother at all. I'm very pleased to have an opportunity to help you with your ambitions."

She tipped her head to one side. "Well, goodbye then. Until the summer."

"I'll look forward to it" He smiled again and tried to ignore the peculiar feeling inching its way across his stomach. He hoped that he hadn't caught the bug which had laid George down the previous week.

Robert cleared his throat and brought Tom abruptly back to the present. "Goodbye" he said and released her hand.

The uneasy sensation remained with him throughout the day, but he didn't feel unwell enough to rest, nor was he able to identify his symptoms. He tried his best to push them to one side and concentrated on his work, his daughter, the more subdued conversation at dinner amongst a family already missing the cheerful diversion of their guests.

It was only as he retired to bed that evening that he finally recognised the unfamiliar sensation which had afflicted him over the course of so many hours.

He felt happy.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Although I initially marked this story as complete, I decided to write a second chapter to cover the family's visit to the fictional Barwick and the development of Tom's relationship with Madeleine. As I mentioned individually to several of you after the last chapter, the story is meant to convey my wish that could Tom move on with somebody likeable such as Madeleine, rather than it necessarily being her. It was rightly mentioned that there was absolutely no exchange between the two of them during the Christmas Special and I've not seen any firm indication that the actress has been employed for S5 (only that Bunting looks likely to be gone mid-series, hurray!). So it's just a little nudge in the direction I would like Tom's story to develop, but which will almost certainly be proved wrong. So this will be the concluding chapter. I'm going to wait and see what S5 brings before I decide what to write next. I'm doing some original writing at the moment so I'm busy with that too. Thanks so much for all the positive comments though, even if you're sceptical about the pairing. I really appreciate your feedback._

* * *

They wrote to one another throughout that spring of 1924, as tulips emerged in haphazard fashion across the lawn and the ancient oak brought forth new buds after its winter slumber. When he later looked back, Tom couldn't be certain what initially drove him to continue with their correspondence. As promised, he sent her the information Sarah had given him – the qualifications needed, the name of a reputable college in Eltham* which he had looked further into himself. It came as no surprise to receive a swift response. Madeleine's upbringing meant that a gracious reply of thanks would be forthcoming under any circumstances. But there was something in her letter – more expansive than a courteous note – which led him to pick up his pen once again. Her elegant script, adorned with the swirl and flourish which could only have been achieved through regular instruction from a female tutor, covered five pages in all. The ink colour shifted just a fraction on the second paragraph of page four, indicating that she had come back to it for a second session. She wrote a little about life in London – a lecture at the Planetarium she had attended with a friend, a new play at the Astoria, a party full of her father's friends. "So, so dull" she wrote and Tom smiled at the line of emphasis – she knew that he would have felt the same. But then she asked after Sybbie and George, enquiring about any outings they had enjoyed, whether they had new books in the nursery, where in the Estate they could explore now that the weather had improved. So it felt instinctive for him to write again and answer her questions. Any discussion concerning his daughter brought pleasure and the words fell naturally from his pen.

To begin with he described a walk in the woods in which Sybbie had pranced along a fallen log before slipping and landing face down in a boggy patch of leaves. She hadn't been hurt in any way and after seeing Tom's expression of relief, had squealed with laughter, intentionally repeating the process twice more until the front of her blue coat had turned almost entirely to the colour of brown sludge. Nanny had not been best pleased and despite his good humour after the outing, Tom could understand why. He could recall his mother's own cry of frustration under similar circumstances almost thirty years earlier – it was easier to be tolerant of childish antics when you weren't responsible for cleaning the coat afterwards. Tom was grateful for this aspect of his transition within the Abbey and found himself writing the same. The confession brought forth questions from Madeleine about his family – how many siblings, what were they doing now, what were his favourite pastimes as a child? It wasn't a one way exchange, she talked about her own family and the isolation of being an only child. Over the course of four months, Tom felt that he had come to understand her mind better than many of those he had served alongside downstairs and even the core sentiments of Mary and Edith. Like most of their class, they often kept their feelings hidden.

'_But we do have feelings. And don't make the mistake of thinking we don't.__' _Tom smiled at the memory of Sybil's indignant declaration from the days when she had held the upper hand but he had forced her card when it came to acknowledging her strength of feeling. He had smirked with the satisfaction of knowing that the reaction meant that she cared, she had lifted her aristocratic chin a little higher in defiance and the journey had been conducted in subsequent silence. Tom paused from his current letter, sat back in his chair and his eyes crinkled once again at the recollection. With hindsight, he had been perhaps inappropriate to push her in the midst of her anxiety over Matthew's injury, but it had been the first tangible signal that he was right to stay and wait for her.

Tom sighed. He eased his position within the heavy, leather backed chair and it creaked softly as he shifted sideways. He swept his hair from his forehead. It needed cutting, he must get that seen to before they travelled to Barwick. His mind revisited another image of Sybil on that sombre morning in which she was riled and his heart had surged with hope. He thought too of Matthew who had become his friend and who he had mourned like a brother. The familiar slow weight of grief emerged within his chest, bearing down upon his heart and squeezing the air from his lungs like a drowning man. But as much as he was accustomed to the sensation, he had begun to learn how best to divert it. He blinked rapidly, sat up straight in the chair and took a large and desperate breath. As the air descended, he summoned up an image of Sybbie. He thought of their forthcoming trip to Barwick and conjured up a picture of Madeleine, her smile broad and eyes shining with welcome. He breathed deeply, thought again of his daughter and picked up his pen.

ooOoo

They received a formal, but joyous welcome at Barwick when they arrived on a sticky, humid August day, the travellers weary from their journey. If Lord Tyrrel and his new wife had any knowledge of Tom's origins and former profession, _which of course they must_ he thought, then they gave no indication. Lady Tyrrel appeared no older than him and fell instantly in with the younger generation, linking her arm companionably through Mary's and appraising Tom with a lingering glance which he felt bordered on inappropriate. Her husband didn't seem to mind and encouraged her to _'enjoy some company your own age, my dear'_ before a look of relief that he could do the same was exchanged with his old friend, Robert and they disappeared together into the drawing room.

Rose was her usual effusive and ecstatic self. He could feel her straining like a puppy on a leash while the usual formalities took place, before she hugged Annabel with unrestrained delight and clapped her hands together suddenly at her first sighting of the figure behind. Tom hadn't spotted Madeleine when they first entered the hall. She stood several steps back from the family, discretely excluding herself from their welcome and only stepped forward after the conventions had come to an end. Swept up in Rose's enthusiastic greeting, she finally extracted herself from her friend's grasp and Tom felt an unexpected wave of disappointment when she simply held her hand out towards him and smiled.

"Hello, Tom. How lovely to see you again."

Inwardly he chastised himself for his foolishness. How could four months of correspondence compete with several years of female friendship? His instinctive reaction was wholly disproportionate and he forced a smile broader than was necessary.

"And you too Madeleine. I hope you had a pleasant journey?"

"It was perfectly pleasant, thank you."

It felt like a farcical exchange given the growing honesty within their letters and he imagined himself in a theatrical production, reciting his script. Once or twice in recent weeks, it had occurred to him that he may have imagined the extent of her beauty, perhaps his impression of her had swelled in proportion to their friendship and a sense of loyalty. But he could see now that he had not been mistaken and was prepared to state quite objectively that she was the prettiest woman there.

Nanny bustled past them, ushering George and Sybbie towards the stairs and struggling to contain their exuberance. Their initial excitement at the journey had made way for ill-temper as the humidity rose and boredom set in. But free now of the constraints of a car, they were eager to explore and resistant to Nanny's attempt to take them upstairs to change out of their travelling clothes.

Tom watched and wondered if he should step in to help. He could help diffuse the conflict, but knew that Nanny would not appreciate a public display of interference. Mary was now nowhere to be seen and George was whining "Mama" while he squirmed under Nanny's grasp. Sybbie turned her head towards her father but as she did so, Madeleine spun around on her heel and the two met each other's expressions head-on.

"Hello Sybbie and George, how lovely to see you here!" Madeleine exclaimed and Tom watched his daughter's eyes narrow in confusion before recognition emerged and a broad smile stretched across her face.

"Will you read me another story please?" she asked and Nanny quickly muttered "shush" and then "not now".

"Of course I will…" Madeleine walked towards the children while Tom, Annabel and Rose watched. "But Nanny's right. You should go and see your rooms first. There are lots of lovely toys to play with up there and then I'll come up a little later and we can read some books together."

"Okay" Sybbie replied obediently and George grinned while a spool of dribble glided slowly down across his chin.

"Crikey" said Rose, clearly impressed. "I wish I could do that, they never listen to me."

Annabel giggled beside her. "You're a child charmer, Madeleine. We'll have to bring you out whenever they are troublesome so you can work your magic."

Madeleine's cheeks flushed and the corners of her mouth twitched to imply that the compliment was well received. Diffusing her embarrassment with a laugh, she glanced shyly in Tom's direction.

"She's a natural" he agreed.

ooOoo

Tom lay on his bed and opened a book. They had enjoyed afternoon tea and all taken a stroll around the lawn, but he felt like the proverbial square peg in a round hole and had excused himself shortly afterwards. Robert was clearly delighted to be in the company of an old friend and while they were both courteous and friendly, Tom knew that they would prefer to chat alone. He wasn't looking forward to having to intrude on their camaraderie again after dinner when they left the ladies at the table. Lady Barwick was dividing her time between Cora, Mary and Edith, while the Dowager had been resting after their journey. He had scarcely seen Madeleine since they arrived. The three younger women had disappeared towards the house only minutes into the walk and although he had strolled into the library and drawing room on his return, there was no sign of any of them. The situation made him feel equally irritable and uncomfortable. Naturally she would want to be with her friends, for whom she had been invited, but he had anticipated something more, without having any tangible reason for feeling that way. But it made his reasons for normally avoiding these visits abundantly plain. He had no natural companion beyond his daughter, around the conventions of Nanny's well-rehearsed schedule. He had no wife to accompany, no brother-in-law to settle in with for an afternoon's recreation, not even a dog to walk. He was alone and without the gratifying diversion of his work.

With a frustrated sigh, Tom placed his book by the side of his bed and stared at the photograph of Sybil which he had brought in his travelling bag. It was his favourite image, taken at Mary and Matthew's wedding - her hair newly cut and face awash with the glow that sometimes comes with pregnancy. Despite the shadow cast by their engagement when they left Downton, he could see the delight at being with her family once again. The contentment with her new role as wife and mother-to-be were matched with the stability of being back in her childhood home and the image it had provided never ceased to be alluring.

"I don't belong here, Sybil" he said quietly, shaking his head. "I really don't know why I came along."

Sybil's smile held firm and as so often when he had a dilemma, he indulged himself by imagining her response. _'To give our daughter a trip, to have a break from work, to help a young woman fulfil her ambitions'._

"Ah yes" he said loudly and swung his legs off the bed and on to the floor. He had brought along a journal for Madeleine, one published specifically for the teaching profession. He had seen Sarah with a copy once and taken note of the name. It had proved very tricky to obtain a single copy and he had found himself subscribing to twelve. If Madeleine was interested in the content, he would look into amending the subscription to her address in London.

Tom had no wish to uncomfortably press Madeleine about her interest in teaching, but he was aware that no discussion on the subject might lead to quashing whatever motivation she still held. It wouldn't be an easy route for a woman in her position, but he had made some enquiries about the qualifications she would need to be considered for a training course. Sarah had provided the initial information, but she had asked so many questions in return that he had kept the reason for his interest brief. She was never one to hold back on her opinions whenever her curiosity was raised and was eloquent in her disdain for the upper classes, having clashed with Lord Grantham and made herself generally unpopular when she visited the Abbey. In the end he had lied, which he loathed to do, and had told her that a cousin over from Ireland was looking to apply. He felt quite protective of Madeleine's ambition, even if it subsequently never came to fruition. Her aspiration to be independent and work was admirable, but he felt sure that Sarah would find the idea derisory. Inverted snobbery could be as unpalatable as the opposite and he had no desire to listen to it.

Sarah had left Downton at the end of the summer term. Her mother had died unexpectedly earlier in the year and she had decided to look for a position close to her home town so that she could help her brothers care for their father. Tom had been sorry in a way; they had enjoyed some interesting conversations over the past couple of years and she offered a pleasant diversion from aristocratic concerns around the dining table. But he had gradually come to the conclusion that his mother's earlier intuition may have been right; there had been indications in recent months that Sarah may have held higher expectations than the platonic friendship he thought they each enjoyed. Tom had expressed his regret that she was leaving, but she had expected something more - he could tell by the flash of disappointment which crossed her face and the subsequent brusque reply. They had parted with a chaste kiss on a miserable wet day and a pledge to write. So far they had exchanged one letter each and he felt no inclination to push for more. Her correspondence had been perfunctory and polite, but he felt none of the warmth he gained from those he received from Madeleine.

He took the journal out of his bag and placed it on the small table next to the fireplace. It was hardly something he could bring down to dinner, although he briefly amused himself by imagining the reaction of both Robert and the Dowager if he did. But he would try and find an opportunity to speak to Madeleine alone the following day and drop it into the conversation. He didn't want to force her to take the copy if her interest had now waned.

Glancing at his pocket watch, Tom decided that while a little earlier than custom prevailed at Downton, it was an acceptable time to call in at the nursery. With a renewed sense of purpose he made his way up the stairs.

"Da!" Sybbie exclaimed with delight and bounded up for their customary hug.

Mary's voice unexpectedly cut in from the doorway to his right. "I was wondering when you might arrive. I'm afraid we are both a poor substitute today."

He frowned with incomprehension as he reached down to where Sybbie was now encasing his legs with her arms.

"For what?" he asked.

Mary walked forward, eyebrows perfectly arched. "Don't you mean, for whom?"

"Do I?" He gave a little shrug and lifted Sybbie up into his arms. "I'm sorry but I'm afraid you've lost me with this one, Mary."

His daughter provided the answer while she wriggled in his grasp. "Madeleine has been reading me and George _lots_ of stories."

Mary tipped her head in Tom's direction. "It seems that she is _quite_ the success with our children. I came in at the end and she had them practically eating out of her hand. Who knows what she might be able to get them to do?"

"Eat green beans?" Tom suggested and laughed when Sybbie emitted an inevitable "Bleugh!"

"Oh good, she's fallible" Mary said and took hold of George's outstretched palm. "I was beginning to wonder. Nanny tells me she read to them one time at Downton too, did you know that?"

He nodded. "Yes I took her up to the nursery."

Mary paused and she stared at him intently. "_Did_ you now?" she said and Tom felt a hint of unwelcome suggestion within her tone.

"Yes. I did. She asked if she could come up with me to see the children and I saw no harm in it."

"Of course there's not" Mary replied with a crisp smile.

"And she'd told me that she'd like to spend some time with the two of them while we're all here together."

"I see. Back at Downton?"

"Pardon?" Tom wasn't clear what Mary was asking.

"She mentioned that while she was staying with us at Downton?"

"No, in a letter." Tom replied before he had considered the implication of his reply. There was no reason to conceal their correspondence, but for reasons he had never cared to explore, he had not mentioned it to anyone and even Rose appeared to be in the dark. He felt himself begin to flush and without understanding the reasons why, became aware of his heart beating unusually quickly.

"I…." he muttered feebly and let Sybbie gently back down to the ground. "She wanted some information…"

Madeleine's ambition was not his to share and his mind raced for a suitable explanation. "…about dogs"

"Dogs" Mary repeated and he saw the corners of her mouth twitch.

"Yes, she's thinking of purchasing a puppy you see and she asked me for some advice."

Mary paused. "But you've never owned a puppy, have you?"

"No" he admitted. "But I've spent a lot of time with Isis."

Mary looked at him expressionlessly for a moment. "Well then, it all makes perfect sense" she finally declared until she was unable to contain her amusement and gave a wide smile.

"I don't see what's so funny…." Tom said crossly and rubbed a hand across his brow in an effort to try and disguise his fluster. Sybbie, sensing her father's unease, began to hop from one foot to another and tugged at the corner of his jacket. "Da…" she said and gazed up at him with concern.

Mary bent down and kissed the top of her son's head before moving across the room to do the same to Sybbie.

"Goodbye darlings" she said sweetly. "Be good and I'll see you downstairs later."

As she walked towards the door, she leant to lightly touch Tom's elbow. "It's a new dawn for us both, Tom" she said and when he looked at her, any hint of mockery had disappeared.

"I really don't know what you…." he protested but Mary was already at the door. She flashed a smile and her eyes followed Sybbie who was now bending down to pick up a doll from the floor.

"She's very lovely" Mary said before swiftly exiting the room and Tom was not at all certain who she meant.

ooOoo

"You've been avoiding me!" came a playful cry from behind them shortly after they had begun their afternoon stroll. Before he had any time to react, Sybbie swung around and tore her hand from his.

"Madeleine!" she shouted with delight and ran the few paces back along the stony path to join her.

Madeleine held her arms out to greet Sybbie, then without forewarning, grasped her hands, turned swiftly on her heel and rotated, allowing the little girl's feet to lift from the ground before she deposited her safely back down.

"Again, again!" Sybbie squealed happily and Madeleine obliged twice more in each direction until she declared herself _'quite dizzy'_ and with a glance towards Tom, asked if they could all walk together.

"Of course" he replied with a polite nod of the head and Sybbie happily stood between them, holding a hand of each.

"We're looking for dragonflies and ladybirds…" he explained by way of starting the conversation "…it could be a very slow stroll."

"I don't mind" Madeleine replied smiling and met the little girl's gaze. "I'll look too, perhaps we'll see some butterflies as well?"

Sybbie nodded with a grin and immediately crouched down to inspect a blade of grass. Madeleine placed a hand to the top of her wide brimmed summer hat and peered down over the little girl.

"Anything there?" she asked. Sybbie frowned and shook her head, then crawled three paces forward for another inspection.

"And I'm _not_ avoiding you." Tom added, his gaze firmly on his daughter and missing the mischievous grin which flashed across his companion's face.

"Only I've scarcely seen you beyond dinner" she said, reverting to a more solemn expression.

"Well you seem very occupied with Rose and Annabel, I'm surprised you've noticed." His words were uttered more sharply than he had intended and Madeleine's eyes widened. In an effort to diffuse the impact, he cleared his throat and smiled. "Which of course is to be expected. I know you've all been looking forward to seeing one another. Rose has scarcely talked of anything else for the past few weeks."

"Well Rose does take her fun very seriously indeed" replied Madeleine and Tom laughed.

"That's true." Their attention was diverted by Sybbie holding out a finger along which a small ladybird was strolling, so they each bent their heads to better see until only an inch or so apart. Tom could smell the sweet scent of her skin and felt curiously unhinged; a once familiar ache arose in the base of his stomach as he felt his legs sway just a little.

"Are you alright?" Madeleine asked and he felt himself revert to formality again, shaken by the unexpected desire.

"I'm quite fine, thank you. I didn't eat much breakfast this morning, I should have forced myself to eat something else. It's a warm day…" he waved a hand helplessly in the air, avoiding her gaze in fear that she may recognise the unexpected emotion underneath.

Her reaction took him by surprise. "Sybbie" she declared. "I'm going to hold your Da up so that he doesn't faint to the ground." She slipped an arm through Tom's and he felt his body stiffen at the informality of gesture. "And I'm going to feed him one of these sweets that I've brought out in my pocket. Do you think he might like one?"

Sybbie stood abruptly to attention in front of her, apparently unconcerned by Tom's welfare but smiling sweetly, her eyes fixed firmly on the front of Madeleine's dress. Regular instruction of good manners prevented her from making a direct request but her silent longing needed no explanation.

Madeleine held out a small white paper bag and glanced towards Tom. "Lemon sherberts, is she allowed?" He nodded and smiled while Madeleine whispered. "Have two, but take care not to bite them. You must suck them so they last a long time." Sybbie nodded solemnly and with her gift safely enclosed within a fist, skipped a few paces away to enjoy them.

"And you?" Madeleine asked, holding out the bag and Tom nodded his thanks, popping one into his mouth and savouring the sweet tang of lemon as it tickled the back of his tongue.

"And I'm _not_ going to faint" he added, certain that she had only been teasing, but wanting to reassert his composure.

"You looked a bit woozy"

"I'm fine" he said firmly.

"Do you want to go back into the house?"

He shook his head. "No, I'd prefer to stay here with you if I may?" Her broad beam of pleasure brought forth another wave of longing and he blinked rapidly, fearful of even contemplating the possible consequences.

He cleared his throat. "I've brought you a teaching journal" he said determinedly, wanting to re-direct the conversation. "It may not be of any interest, but I thought…"

"Oh I _would_, thank you!" she exclaimed. "That's so thoughtful of you."

He gave a stiff smile, carefully monitoring his reaction while she continued. "I'm _so_ grateful to you for going to the trouble of sending me all the information. I've been looking into gaining some form of qualification next year so that I could consider an application to a training course in the future. There's a very respectable college in Kensington which offers evening classes."

"Have you mentioned it to your father?" he asked cautiously.

She turned her head away from him to gaze at Sybbie. "No, not yet. I think it's best to wait until I turn twenty-one in November and then he can't actually forbid me from doing anything."

"Do you think there will be consequences?" he asked gravely and heard her sigh.

"He won't like the idea at all. None of it. I mean, I won't tell him everything to begin with, there's no need to rile him when I may never be accepted to college anyway. But he will inevitably tell me that it's unnecessary for a woman to gain any form of qualification."

"No education is ever wasted" Tom added and Madeleine turned once again to face him, her face unusually sombre.

"You see, that's why you are _so_ much more of a gentleman than my father will ever be, Tom. You believe in emancipation and that women in our society have more to offer the world than simply hosting parties and bearing children. I _know_ that I could do something truly worthwhile and that it would give me far more satisfaction." She paused in thought and a tiny frown crossed her face. "Even though I must confess that I do enjoy parties now and again and it's not that I have never entertained the thought of having a child."

Tom reached across to pat the arm which entwined his. "You could do all three" he said gently. "Teach, host parties, have children. And many other things besides."

"My father would be horrified at the thought" she said sadly. "And yet, I don't think he would cast me out. I'm his only child. I'm all he's got now and even though he can be avaricious and derisory at times, I know he loves me. As I love him regardless."

"You know I'll offer you as much support as I can, don't you?" Tom said earnestly. "I mean, I know I'm far away, but you'll always have a friend to help you if things get difficult. Either way, even if you decide not to apply, or if you change your mind and want to do something different. Just know that you have someone who believes you can steer your own course."

She watched him as if transfixed, a hint of pink forming at the edge of her cheeks. "Thank you" she said. "For everything."

Before Tom could even consider his next response, he felt a small hand tug at the side of his trousers and looked down to see Sybbie staring up imploringly.

"Da…" she said with no hint of discretion. "Am I allowed to have another sweet?"

ooOoo

A dance concluded their stay at Barwick. Lord Tyrrel and his wife invited the local nobility and the event offered stark contradiction to those who believed that their way of life was coming to an end. Plates groaned under the weight of rich foods, the very best champagne was topped up by a collection of uniformed staff and the band – specially picked to cater to all tastes and generations – was summoned from London.

"They've played at The Palace twice" Rose whispered to Tom, her face awash with excitement while they stood at the edge of the ballroom, watching Lord and Lady Barwick step on to the floor to signify the start of the dancing.

Tom smiled and held out his arm. "Well if they're good enough for the King of England, then they're good enough for me. Would you care to dance?"

"Absolutely!" she replied and tugged at his arm in her haste to join in.

The advantage of such an ostentatious and well attended display, Tom later reflected while he stood and watched the enthusiastic participants, was that he could hide in the shadows. So often the subject of curiosity by those he met nowadays, he was grateful for an opportunity to conceal himself within the crowd.

Mary appeared at his side and glanced at him appraisingly. "Are you going to ask Madeleine to dance?" she asked and he was taken aback by her directness.

"I was going to ask _you_ to dance actually" he replied but any hope of diverting her line of thought was in vain.

"Oh you don't need to worry. I've got lots of people wanting to dance with me, I'm in high demand. You should ask Madeleine, she's being hounded by Lady Barwick's younger brother who's a frightful bore." She paused in thought. "Although you may want to ask poor Edith as well. She looks as if she's lost a pound and found a farthing."

"I think she's got a lot on her mind at present" Tom replied defensively. He found Mary's condescension towards her sister rather unpalatable at times.

Mary turned her head and gazed at him coolly. "Well I don't see what. It's quite clear by now that Michael is dead and the magazine practically runs itself."

"You and I both know that grief can't be so easily dismissed, Mary. She needs a little empathy from those of us who have had experienced it ourselves."

"Yes well…" Mary looked away, unwilling as usual to concede. "It's time for all of us to turn our grief around. We have to think of the next generation."

"I never stop thinking of the next generation" Tom reminded her and her expression softened.

"I know."

Mary stared across the dance floor, seemingly blind to its participants – flushed faces and laughter, snatches of conversation, a cacophony of heels beating across the wooden floor.

"Do you ever find yourself asking Sybil for advice?" she asked slowly, turning her head towards Tom with an expression unusually tentative. "Even though she's no longer here?"

"All the time" he replied, thinking of her picture by the side of his bed and his frequent musings.

"I find myself asking Matthew whether I should choose Tony or Charles. Rather odd given the circumstances, don't you think?"

"He was always a good man to weigh up an argument. I was often glad of his judgement."

She gave a tight-lipped smile. "Matthew understood my mind better than I knew it myself.

Tom paused. "Has he given you an answer yet?"

"Yes. I just haven't entirely come around to his way of thinking yet."

Before he could respond, a young man appeared before them – slim, pencil thin moustache, dark blond hair parted just a little off centre, a nose which had almost certainly once been broken. He was sweating profusely. Tom didn't recognise him, but Mary smiled and politely spoke his name.

"May I have the pleasure?" the man asked with the over-eagerness of youth and Mary tipped her head while Tom took his leave.

He walked to the back of the room to set down his empty glass and to his left could see Edith and the Dowager seated on the far side, engaged in solemn conversation. Just as he was about to move towards them, he observed Madeleine and Annabel standing close by, smiling while they watched the band. Annabel leant towards her friend, cupping a hand over her ear and Madeleine turned towards her, her face alight with mirth.

Tom stood and watched, transfixed for a moment by the image of youthful pleasures and felt envious of their unfiltered happiness. The amusement of others is often seductive, untouched by misunderstanding or exclusion. Without warning, a swell of emotion caught in his throat. Sybil's image then briefly arose, but she was not the cause. He was simply accustomed to the connection.

He took two steps forward with the intention to first speak to Edith, but the movement caught Madeleine's eye and she met his gaze, her face displaying immediate, unconcealed delight. Annabel turned around and with a light touch of her friend's arm, moved away.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" Tom asked once he had moved to join her. "Would you like to dance?"

She held out her hand with a coy smile. "I thought you were never going to ask"

He held her self-consciously, willing their usual familiarity to return. All of his senses were heightened – he could smell summer fruits and lemon in her hair, feel the curve of her waist beneath thin silk fabric, hear gentle breaths close to his ear. His heart increased its beat and his skin felt sensitive in a way he had almost forgotten – as if somebody had tapped him all over and reactivated a current which he thought would lie dormant for ever.

"Are you enjoying the evening?" he asked in a stilted tone and she looked at him sharply, as if aware that something was amiss.

"Yes I am so far. But Tom, I keep meaning to ask you…"

"Yes?"

"Are you an uncle yet? Is there any news from Liverpool?"

All at once, he felt at ease again, the subject matter shifting to something more tangible. He had told her in a letter of Kieran's impending fatherhood.

"Not yet. As far as I know. I'm hoping there'll be a letter waiting for me when I return to Downton."

"But does he know you're here? Might he telephone with the news?" She asked the question so innocently, but he summoned up an image of his brother on a telephone to the Butler at Barwick and couldn't supress a grin.

"It's not really his style. I'd imagine our mother will pass on the news as soon as he thinks to tell her."

The band had switched to something more up-tempo and in unison they came to a halt, stepping off the dance-floor. All of a sudden, Madeleine grasped Tom's elbow.

"Quick, let's move out of the way. Lady Barwick's brother Ernest is heading this way and I can't face another conversation about fishing rights in Derbyshire."

They weaved in and out of high-spirited guests until Madeleine was satisfied that they were sufficiently out of reach. The high ceiling of the ballroom gave way to gabled windows at one end, within each one a small seat covered in unexpectedly worn blue velvet . Madeleine sat down and tugged at Tom's sleeve to join her.

"If I can persuade my father to hold a dinner for my twenty-first birthday, would you come?"

He was thrown immediately off-kilter. "What, come to London you mean?"

"Yes. Rose would come too, of course." Her gaze was fixed to the floor.

He could feel his heart pounding once again while the myriad of chatter and music surrounding them dulled to a muffled whisper, as if a door had suddenly closed.

"Well…I…um"

She raised a gloved hand to her forehead and he saw her cheeks redden. "I mean, only if you wanted to of course, please don't worry if you don't."

"I…well, I'd be honoured of course. But are you sure that your father would be happy with the invitation?"

She spoke so softly at first that he had to lean forward in order to hear her, but there was no mistaking the sentiment.

"I want him to meet you, Tom. I would like him to get to know you."

Her eyes drew his gaze, wide with expectation, the corners of her mouth lifting just a little –excitement tinged with fear. She didn't speak further but her expression took him tumbling back to Downton's garage more than five years previously. Sybil resplendent in black and gold, her eyes bright, words escaping from her lips which would snatch them both from stability and send them hurtling into a new life. Adventure, freedom, hope and happiness all bundled up together – their short, tumultuous escapade together bringing more joy and grief than he had ever known.

'_You're my ticket'_. Sybil had wanted more than Downton with its aristocratic expectations and now Madeleine was looking to make a similar journey. The comparison was raw and left him trembling, irregular breaths emerging with a sharp, gasping urgency.

"Excuse me please" he managed to say, rising unsteadily to his feet and holding a hand out towards the wall to stabilise shaking legs. "I…I…"

Her expression of crumbling hope was more than he could bear. "I'm sorry, I don't feel very well" he muttered and didn't look back, stumbling blindly around the room with guttural sounds of apology to those he bumped into along the way. He was close to the ballroom door when he heard Edith call out his name, her voice ringed with concern.

"My stomach" he said loudly and turned his head, one hand placed over his belly to help amplify the excuse.

He staggered along an oak panelled corridor, aware of blurred shadowy figures in his path, lurching sideways to avoid them.

"Are you alright sir?" a voice asked and he raised a hand before escaping into the hallway and up the staircase. Once safely in the guests' corridor he began to run, unconcerned now by the thought of witnesses to his distress. The doorknob slipped out of his grasp and he quietly cursed, sweat emerging from every pore as the door crashed loudly against his bedroom wall. With a moan, he reached out for Sybil's photograph.

"Oh my love, forgive me" he whispered and sat on the edge of the bed with it in his hands, his shoulders shaking with fear and anguish. A sense of betrayal hung in the air; he had held fast to the idea that he could never love again, nor consider forging a life with somebody else. Marriage vows were sacred and although death had parted them and offered him release, he had only ever entertained thoughts of remaining alone. Mary needed companionship, he did not. His daughter brought him contentment and until now, that had sufficed.

Yet he felt something for Madeleine, he couldn't deny it any longer. It was more than close friendship, or the fondness he sometimes felt for Rose or even Sarah. Madeleine triggered reactions within his heart and body which were comparable only to those he had experienced with Sybil. But there was none of the reckless passion he had once known with his wife. His heart was now too cautious for inconsequential love. Broken by abandonment and loss, it could heal but never return to the same form. He was a different man, but by the same measure, Madeleine was not Sybil.

Tom took a heavy breath and forced his eyes open to gaze once more upon the photograph. "I will never stop loving you" he whispered, but as he did so his mother's words from the previous year echoed within his mind.

'_I dare say there'll never be anyone quite like Sybil for you again, but that's not to say that you can't find a form of happiness in the future'._

During the previous few months, Tom had been aware of the change within him. He felt a brightness of spirit, an optimism for the future which had been absent since Sybil's death. To begin with he had convinced himself that time was beginning to slowly heal and that the warmer months always brought forth a sanguinity which was absent during the long, cold winter. Sybbie was growing up and as her speech evolved, he found himself further enjoying their conversations and longer excursions away from the Abbey. None of these issues were now inconsequential, but he understood that they were underlined by something more distinct – the possibility of a brighter future, a happiness similar to that he had unexpectedly lost.

Sybil's image stared back at him, her smile intact. There was no suggestion that she was passing judgement. Lightly he placed the tip of a finger beside her face and sighed. If their fates had been reversed, what would he have wanted for her? If he had been killed before he had a chance to flee from Ireland and Sybil had been saved by the surgeon's knife, what wish would he have expressed? Most likely she would have remained at Downton with their daughter for the same reasons he still found himself there, but would he expect her to remain alone? Painful as the idea was, he knew that he would want her to be happy, to share her life with somebody who respected and loved her in the same way. He was not a selfish man. The plight of one should not extend to others.

A wave of shame arose as he thought about Madeleine downstairs who had found the courage to extend an invitation which could not be misunderstood and must now surely be feeling the weight of rejection. He had encouraged her and the strength of his reaction had been unnecessarily cruel. He wouldn't blame her if she had now changed her mind entirely. Would she feel a lifetime of competition against a woman she would have no opportunity to overcome?

Tom rose to his feet and with trembling hands placed the photograph back on the table beside the bed.

'_What do you think I should do, love?'_ he asked and thought of her sister's similar contemplation. There was no misunderstanding; he stood on the precipice of a decision which could not be reversed. This was not the time for half-hearted measures; a hint of possibility or request for more time. Madeleine deserved better.

A shuddering sigh escaped his lips and he raised his hands to cover his face. Seconds passed and the air around him hung heavy with the weight of contemplation. Then he stood tall and let his arms drop down beside him.

He had made his decision.

* * *

_A/N2: I'll leave you to decide for yourselves what you think his decision should be!_

_*Avery Hill College in Eltham opened in 1906 and offered teacher training courses for women (it's now part of the University of Greenwich). Most applicants were from lower middle class families, there were very few upper middle class, or upper class women who taught in the 1920s. As applicants would generally be expected to have at least three years of secondary schooling behind them, someone home schooled like Madeleine would have to gain certain qualifications before being in a position to apply._


End file.
